


Warden Morgan, Sir

by akelios



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Consent Play, Kinkmeme, Light Bondage, M/M, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-13
Updated: 2011-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-28 16:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akelios/pseuds/akelios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"As a wizard under the Doom, you are subject to periodic inspections of your belongings and domicile for any signs of black magic. I am the Warden assigned to your case. As such, it falls to me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warden Morgan, Sir

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to make this extra clear: there is no non-consensual sex in this fic. I've warned for it because I don't want to risk triggering anyone, but everything in this fic is consent play between a couple.

It took Dresden five minutes to open the door to his apartment. I scowled at him, rain dripping from the end of my nose, my hair soaked and clinging to the back of my neck. His eyes were blurred with sleep, his hair stuck up at all angles and he was wearing an over sized t-shirt and boxers. I'd woken him from a deep sleep, which was only to be expected at three in the morning.

“Warden Morgan? Is there something wrong?”

“Dresden.” I stepped past him and into the small apartment without touching him. “I'm here for your first inspection.”

Dresden closed the door and locked it as I looked around. The room was practically empty, containing only a duffel bag, a foot locker and a few examples of hard used furniture. There was a blanket and a pillow on the couch. He'd been sleeping there.

“Inspection? I don't know- Ebenezar didn't say anything about any inspections.” The sleep was clearing from his voice, leaving it laced with suspicion and wariness. I walked around the detritus, my hand resting near the hilt of my sword, water dripping steadily from my cloak.

“Wizard McCoy has many things to occupy his attention. As a wizard under the Doom, you are subject to periodic inspections of your belongings and domicile for any signs of black magic. I am the Warden assigned to your case. As such, it falls to me.” I picked up a paperback book that was laying open, the spine bent and mangled. The cover was a lurid, nearly pornographic image. I dropped the thing and wiped my hand off on my slacks. “Show me your lab.”

“I don't have a lab. I just moved in here.” He spread his arms, the movement drawing the thin fabric of the shirt tight against his chest, the dark peaks of his nipples showing through the nearly translucent white cloth. “Everything I own is right here.”

“Sir. Or Warden Morgan.”

“Excuse me?”

“You will address me with respect, Dresden. Sir or Warden Morgan.” Our eyes met for a split second before he dropped his gaze, swallowing hard enough that I could hear it.

“Everything I own is right here in this room, Warden Morgan. And I haven't been using any black magic.”

“We'll see.”

I began my search in the farthest corner of the room and worked around the space methodically. Dresden stood behind the couch, watching me as I worked. His very stillness and silence as I rifled through his belongings was unusual. The few times I'd been in his presence, the boy had hardly stopped talking to breathe. I maintained my pace, being thorough as always, in case it was a ruse to get me to focus my attention on him and miss something vital but I began to make my way over to where Dresden stood.

“Find anything evil looking?” Dresden's voice wavered, very quietly. He was afraid. Nervous. Guilty and hiding something.

“Step back from the couch, Dresden.” He did, a puzzled look on his face. “Strip.”

“I- What? No! What the hell do you think you're-”

“Dresden!” I gripped the hilt of my sword and drew it, just half an inch, from it's scabbard. “You could be concealing contraband on your person. Strip, or I will judge you guilty and carry out sentence immediately.”

“You can't _do_ that!”

“I assure you, I can. You're a _warlock_. My judgment is absolute in this matter.”

There was a long pause, a minute where I thought that he would balk and refuse. I tightened my fingers around the hilt, the leather creaking beneath my hand. Dresden went pale, then flushed with anger, his eyes narrowing and focusing on my hand and the deadly sword in my grip. He looked away, finally, as his hands grasped the hem of his shirt and yanked it off over his head. The boxers went next, kicked off to one side with an angry snarl.

“Good choice.” I released my sword and walked around Dresden. Skinny but muscular, his body was marked here and there with scars. There was nothing that looked ritualistic in nature, no tattoos of any kind. When I walked back around to his front, I was greeted with a bowed head, fists clenched at his sides.

It wasn't hard to figure out why. Dresden was half erect and filling out before my eyes. The sight of him, flushed with embarrassment and arousal combined, the color high on his cheeks as he trembled made a knife blade of lust stab though me and I answered Dresden's arousal with my own. A thought, dark and alluring crawled up from the back of my mind.

I turned the thought over in my mind, examining it as I backed up to the couch and crouched, pulling out from beneath it the crumbled cloth I'd spotted. His formal wizards robe and the stole. Such a lack of respect for his station. It wasn't surprising. Dresden hadn't earned his status. I dropped the robe and rose, keeping hold of the blue stole, stretching it out between my hands.

Dresden took a step back as I approached him.

“What-”

“Hands behind your back.”

“Hey, no. I'm not-”

I struck him. Not particularly hard, and I used the back of my open hand. He staggered to one side and I used the second this gave me to wrench his hands up into the small of his back and bind them there, tightening the stole until it dug into the flesh of his wrists. I shoved him to his knees and stood in front of him.

“Son of a bitch!” Dresden struggled, cursing, but the knots were too tight. He tried to rise to his feet and I shoved him back down with one hand on his shoulder. I felt him start to try to gather power together, his fear making him willing to risk it without his foci. Reckless.

I drew my sword and he froze, his eyes wide and terrified.

“This need not end badly, Dresden.” I brought the flat of the blade up to rest against his cheek. It was an awkward position but I didn't think I would need to hold it for long. He was young, alone, and afraid.

“What do you want?”

“'Sir'.” I prompted him.

“Sir.” He ground it out between clenched teeth.

“A mutually beneficial arrangement.” I pulled my sword back far enough that I could trail the very tip of it, so carefully, so lightly, down the skin of his chest, over his stomach until it came to rest just above his erection, undiminished even through the fear. “You keep me happy, Dresden, and you can walk away from this.”

He shook, his cock twitching and leaking, then he bowed his head.

I said nothing as I sheathed my sword. My footsteps were loud against the floor as I moved around him one last time. The cloak was heavy, still sodden as I pulled it off and dropped it to a bare bit of floor. I unbuckled my sword and laid it, still sheathed, beside Dresden's kneeling form where he couldn't help but see it from the corner of his eye.

Dresden made no sound as I pressed him forward, guiding him until he was bent nearly in half over his knees. His breathing was quick and ragged as I undid my belt, the muscles in his back tightening until I thought it must hurt as I undid my slacks, my erection emerging huge and proud, brushing against the soft curve of his ass.

The bottle of oil I kept for my leather was heavy in my hand, the thick fluid colder than I thought it would be. I hissed through my teeth as I coated my length until I was practically dripping with it. A strangled sob escaped Dresden as I pierced him with my fingers, stretching him quickly but thoroughly. I didn't want to hurt him, not like that. It would be so much easier if he enjoyed it too. Easier to convince him the next time and the time after that.

He was tight enough that I had to fight my way inside of him, the pressure a mind bending pleasure. Dresden cried out on each thrust, my hands slippery and hot against his skin as I rocked forward, taking him as quickly as I could stand. Once I was deep inside of him, once I had opened him up for me, I let myself go. I took Dresden on the floor of his dirty little apartment, the hard, even sounds of my breathing overriding the ragged sobs that escaped him, the tiny whimpers that I pictured being forced through swollen, bitten lips.

I took him, spread him open and then I emptied him out, my grip rough and demanding on his sensitive flesh. I tore the orgasm from him when I wanted it, leaving him no choice but to surrender that part of his body and his pleasure to me as well. Dresden cried out, breathlessly, sending shivers up my spine. I rode him through it, holding back from my own release until he went boneless beneath me, finally truly unresisting.

I thrust again and again, driving him over the rough carpet on his knees until I could hold back no longer. When I came it was with a shout of triumph, my hands leaving bruises as I pulled out just in time to paint the pale curve of his ass and thighs. Dresden twitched a little with each splash of my come, but he didn't try to escape.

When it was over I released him. He slumped to the floor, a huddled form comprised of too long limbs covered in sweat and filth. His breathing was deep, even, no longer harsh and ragged. His eyes were closed but I could see the shiny trails that a few tears had left on his cheeks.

“Harry?” I undid the knot around his wrists carefully, tossing the wrinkled stole back over to the couch. His hands were a little swollen, not unexpected. He'd asked to be tied tighter than I liked this time. I had to be careful not to hurt him. Not any more than we agreed on at any rate. I took his hands in mine one at a time, massaging the feeling back into them. “Harry? Can you hear me?”

“Mmnn.”

I rolled him over onto his back. His eyes were cracked open, what I could see of them dark and unfocused.

“Words, Harry. Tell me how you're feeling.”

“ _Good_ , Donald. Very, very good.” Harry reached up and patted at my cheek, a goofy grin on his face. “Thanks.”

“Get some rest. Tomorrow is my night, remember?”

His soft laughter trailed off as he drifted into sleep.


End file.
